music in the mail.

i have a favorite thing
about my new apartment here.
on this side of the
ocean.


it's the mail slot.

{often the simple things

right?}

it's charming.
it's old.
it's from the 1920's.


but you know, sometimes the mail

gets a little stuck

in there.

so you have to tug.

and sometimes

the mail

takes an unfortunate

hit for this.

{oh well}.

today.

something new happened.

a package.

held my name.

propped nicely beneath

#106 mail slot.

that's strange,

no cyber monday

shopping done here.

i tucked the package

under my arm with the

rest of little victories 
from the tug-o-mail.

hands full.

i set the loads in my arms

down and promptly 

forgot all about

this little brown package.

until later.

when i finally stopped 

for a minute to remember.

how can you forget mail?

and a package at that!

{still unsure.}

i opened the brown paper 

to find

two CDs:

one christmas. and one not.

and a note.

from a kind gentleman

that i met once.

once.

we had chatted and connected 

on our mutual love for 

the beauty only choirs

can create.

here he was

sending me some of 

his son's choir tunes.

wondering if i might

enjoy them.

might i?!

oh yes i might..

and i'm going to try

my absolute best

to perhaps see the famous

land of lakes choirboys

this december 9.


any joiners?


come.
we can sit and
rub our goosebump-ed arms
together.




-n.

letters and the post office.

it's faster to type.

you'll get it momentarily, 

if not instantly.

i can

:::skype you.

IM you.

email you.

facebook you.

facebook chat you.

gchat you.

tweet you.:::

did i miss any?

in a world of utter connection 

:::exchange of pictures.exclamations.words.memories.news::: 

staying in the loop 

with the happenings of, 

well just about anyone, 

is a breeze.

:::the president of Yemen.my sister living in India.my girlfriend country hopping from Egypt to Saudi with her family.my little cousin's latest soccer game.and my friend's hot date last friday:::

but there is something to be said

about receiving [and sending] mail 

that cannot be matched.

i'm talking about mail, 

the kind embraced in an envelop. 

the kind you lick to close...

[hoping you don't cut your tongue]. 

the kind where you have to look up 

the other's postal address.

 the kind dropped into the little 

red [or blue] box on the corner.

 the kind that is still 

a complete mystery of how it goes 

from that little red[or blue] 

box on the corner, 

over highways and under bridges, 

to airports and over 

rivers and oceans, 

trucks to little vehicles, 

to the small satchel the man 

with blue pants 

[who sincerely hopes the receiver owns

no canine to speak of] 

to...you.

the kind when the little PO Box lid 

is lifted in mindless routine. 

the kind that catches something 

in the gut, 

something like small sparks 

igniting from the eyes to the

 stomach and back again 

when that little-traveled-envelop 

catches your attention

in the mail slot

and you know that little message.

is intended 

for you.

so here i am.

living in the land of stationary stores 

literally around every curve and bend. 

and with unbelievable graphics 

and English-tag lines like this...

HAPPY DAY! ! !

when your feeling down, take a bath. you'll look better and feel cleaner too.

how can you you not stock up, 

buying stationary for 

everyone you know?

[INSERT PICTURE HERE].

Korean post offices

think of everything.

i mean really.

there's the packaging and addressing station 

complete with four different 

kinds of tape, 

various markers with which 

to address your mail, 

spectacles 

[in case you forgot your glasses at home], 

a choice of 20 different sizes 

of boxes and envelops.

i waited in the international line,

with all the ladies.

assumedly mothers. 

clutching their varying sized parcels

 of gimchi, 

the Korean national food.

a few letters and 

small birthday package

in hand.

packed and ready to go.

i gave them one last look

and a wish for safe traveling.

i tried to imagine the moment when 

my friends,

my grandmother,

my cousin,

would pull the lid to that mailbox.

i wondered if the butterflies, 

the catch in the throat

would come.

until next post office visit.

watch your postbox!